said Aunt Lydia, in both perplexity and alarm, for the child was
sobbing hard, dry, tearless sobs.

"Oh, Aunt Lydia! be merciful," she gasped. "Oh! oh! if you find it
don't keep it. 'Tisn't mine, 'tis Lovedy's; 'tis to find Lovedy. Oh!
don't, don't, don't keep the purse if you find it, Aunt Lydia Purcell."

At the word "purse" Aunt Lydia's face changed. She had been feeling
almost kind to poor Cecile; now, at the mention of what might contain
gold, came back, sweeping over her heart like a fell and evil wind,
the love of gold.

"Jane," she said, turning to her amazed handmaiden; "this wicked,
silly child has been hiding something, and she's afraid of my finding
it. Believe me, I will look well into the inner attic. She spoke of a
cupboard. Search for a cupboard in the wall, Jane."

Jane, full of curiosity, searched now with a will. There was but a
short moment of suspense, then the sliding panel fell back, the
little tin box was pulled out, and Cecile's Russia-leather purse was
held up in triumph between Jane's finger and thumb.

There was a cry of pleasure from Aunt Lydia. Cecile felt the attic
growing suddenly dark, and herself as suddenly cold. She murmured
something about "Lovedy, Lovedy, lost now," and then she sank down, a
poor unconscious little heap, at Aunt Lydia's feet.